Finding Love on Drury Lane
Page 7
His daughter? The Prince Regent was Nell’s father? Wrong side of the blanket, of course, but the young woman he had sought to make his mistress, and now wanted to make his wife, was actually of royal blood.
St. John raised his head. Nell was looking down upon him, an amused smile on her face. “I did tell you,” she reminded him, “that there was no reason for concern.”
“You also told me that I was insufferable,” he recalled.
“So you were. I expect that you shall be again.”
“I will endeavor not to be. You have not answered my proposal and I wish that you would, because I am beginning to get the most abominable ache in my knee.”
Nell laughed. “Then rise,” she said.
“Your answer?”
“I shall give it my most earnest consideration,” she said.
“That does not sound like an acceptance.” Was she refusing him? Had he declared himself in view of all, on bended knee, to a woman who did not want him?
“You haven’t even kissed her,” said the Prince Regent. “How do you expect a girl to take your proposal seriously if you don’t even kiss her?”
“It would not be appropriate to kiss a girl who is not my fiancée!” St. John protested.
“Nonsense!” Lord Bennington said. “Any man worth his manhood is going to at least try to sneak a kiss from the girl he loves. If you don’t, how is she to know that you mean what you say?”
Advice from a pair of reprobates. “I am not going to pay court to the woman I love with an audience.”
“You are marrying an actress,” Marguerite informed him. “She is not dismayed at the presence of an audience.”
“But—“
Nell took his hands. “My lord,” she said formally. “I would be pleased if you would kiss me to seal our bargain.”
“Does that mean you will marry me?”
“That depends,” she said, a merry glint in her eye.
“On?”
“On how convincingly you kiss me.”
“I am not accustomed to having spectators watch while I kiss a woman!” St. John responded.
Her lips curved in that bewitching smile that captured his senses. “Try,” she urged.
He put his arms around her, mindful at first that he was being watched intently by the future king of England, his father, own and the actress who was the queen of Drury Lane. He held, in his arms, a woman of such beauty and charm that, moments after their embrace began, he forgot everything but her, the softness of her lips beneath his, the slenderness of her shoulders, the tendrils of hair escaping from her top hat and, as they kissed, the rapture of her acquiescence to his ardor.
“Not badly done,” the Prince said when the couple finally separated, their bodies apart but their eyes still locked together in a lingering embraces of glances. “Nell?”
“With practice,” Nell said lightly, “I think we will be quite ready for a repeat performance on our wedding day.”
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